Fractured
by bekah.jane
Summary: Sonja has been resurrected minus any memory. Michael tries to help her but things get complicated when he disappears. Who is the leather-clad woman to whom Sonja bares an odd resemblance? Who are the two gang lords who both seem to want her? 1st movie AU


She awoke in blind agony.

Darkness pressed in around her like an iron blanket, constricting her chest so that she could hardly take in enough air to breathe. Her mind raced through nothingness and she began to panic as she realized she had no memories whatsoever. She couldn't even remember what she looked like, let alone her own name. It came as an intense relief when the weight around her began to subside. Slowly, as if the darkness was peeling away from her skin, she began to feel her body. Yes, there were her shoulders, and then her chest and her arms. Painstakingly slowly, the darkness fell from her stomach and waist, down her legs until it finally lifted from her toes. Cautious and tenderly, as if afraid they'd break off, she twitched her fingers. A dull ache shot up her arm, but it was hardly as bad as the pain of the darkness.

As she wracked her brain for a memory, she became aware of an irritating, slow beeping sound nearby. Even behind her eyelids, she could tell she was in a very light place. Again moving with slow precision, she eased her eyes open. The room was, indeed very white. She stared up at the ceiling for a few moments, confused, and then began to sweep the room. The walls were, of course, white, and as were the curtains pulled across the window, and the linoleum floor. In fact, the only colours she could see where in the man lying across from her and the pot plant by the door. She started and her eyes fell back on the man.

He was fast asleep, though it didn't look like a very comfortable rest. He was hooked up to a number of complicated machines (one of which was emitting the incessant beeping noise) and a frown was etched in his already wrinkled face. He was clearly quite old and sickly. She felt panic wash through her. Was she in quite a similar state as the old man? Was she wasted and withered, biding her time through the last days of her life? Somehow, she didn't think so. Her breathing was clear and slow and her eyesight and hearing seemed perfectly healthy. She looked down at her hands. They were quite pale, but they were smooth and young.

"Ah, you're awake."

She started yet again and her eyes snapped to the door. It had been opened and a young man had walked in. He smiled in a sheepish, apologetic way and approached her bed. She opened her mouth to ask the many questions that she had ('Who am I?' was at the top of her list) but her throat was dry and she only just manage a painful rasp.

"Don't try to talk just yet," the man advised in a quiet, methodical voice, "Here, drink some water."

He held up a glass of water for her to drink rather clumsily from. The cool liquid sliding down her throat had to be the most wonderful thing she'd ever felt (though she only had about 3 minutes of memories to compare) and she finished the whole glass in seconds.

"Better?" the man asked, smiling knowingly.

She nodded slowly and managed to croak out, "Yes, thank you."

"So, are you experiencing any pain?" the man asked, taking a clipboard from a small table beside her bed.

She considered this for a moment. Her body ached as if she'd just woken up after running a marathon, but the searing pain from before had completely subsided.

"Not really," she whispered, while the man scanned his notes.

"Are you sure? You don't have to suffer through it, I can give you a painkiller," he offered kindly.

She shook her head and forced herself to smile. She felt instantly drawn to the man. His calm presence comforted her. If she was going to ask anyone, it was going to be him.

"Excuse me, but..." she paused nervously, "Who am I?"

The smile fell off the man's face almost instantly and then his eyes fell to the clipboard. He frantically scanned the notes before looking back to her. Her heart pounded erratically, wishing he would say something.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" he blurted, clearly reading her expression, "I just... We had no idea..."

He looked at the notes one more time, shaking his head thoughtfully.

"You haven't suffered any injuries to your head. This is really usual. In fact, you have no injuries at all. You were found by some tourists, lying in a wood unconscious. When they brought you in we really just thought you'd taken a tiny bump on your head. But this..." he shook his head again, "I really can't explain this."

He was silent for a long time. She felt afraid to speak, as if she would be interrupting something quite important. After a while, the man slumped into a little white chair by her bed.

"It's not completely uncommon," he said, placing the clipboard back on the table, "Amnesia can occur after a trauma, or as a defence mechanism. I'm just stumped that you seem to have no other injuries. You say you're in no pain?"

"Well, I'm a little achy," she admitted, "But nowhere in specific."

She was pleased to feel her throat beginning to soothe. The man nodded and was quiet again.

"Do you know who I am?" she asked quietly. She already knew the answer, but it still came as a great disappointment.

"No, I'm sorry," the man sighed, "You weren't carrying any identification on you when you were found. We've put out notices in newspapers and asked around but nobody can identify you."

She nodded numbly and looked down. It was a horrible feeling of vulnerability, having no memory. She wished to, at least, know a name she could call herself.

"Listen, don't worry. You're completely healthy besides this little memory glitch. In cases like yours, memories begin to come back within days. I'm sure you'll start remembering soon enough."

She smiled up at the man appreciatively, but she couldn't help noticing the apprehension in his eyes.

"I promise I'll do whatever I can to help you," he vowed quietly.

"Thank you," she said sincerely. She quickly scanned his jacket for identification.

"Michael."

* * *

It was pouring rain when Michael finally left the hospital. His feet positively ached; he'd been busy all day. And yet, no matter how busy he was, he'd made an effort to visit that woman. Her face was etched clearly in his mind by now. She was positively stunning with her long, dark hair, deep, intelligent eyes and full, wide lips. She was a classic beauty, not like most of the city girls with their hair dye and heavy makeup. But Michael found himself drawn to more than her beauty. He'd felt an almost instant need to protect her from the moment he'd learned of her vulnerable state. So much so that he found himself stopping nurses from seeing to her, with a casual 'I've got this one, mate'. It was ridiculous, he knew. Why would anybody at the hospital, least of all the nurses, want to hurt her? But he'd promised the woman he'd help her, and it seemed that he would be taking this promise quite seriously.

Shivering, Michael finally descended into the not warm, but at least dry train station. His stomach rumbled with hunger and he tried to remember what he had stored in the fridge. Right on time, his regular train pulled up to the station, but someone caught his eye just as he was about to step on. The girl from the hospital! What was she doing here? He slowed down and eyed her apprehensively. No, this was a different woman. Similar, but now that he looked properly, he could see the difference. Shorter hair, thinner lips. This woman was quite equal in beauty, though her face held a sort of innocence. No, innocence was not the word. Perhaps the amnesiac woman had a harder face. But he could hardly call his friend from the hospital hard, just as he couldn't call this new woman innocent. In fact, this woman was completely dressed in tight leather, long trench coat and all. The trends of today, he thought exhaustedly, who can keep up?

* * *

**Phew. That was exhausting to write. The first part all spewed out of me, too fast for me to type, but I had to really think about the rest. I apologize for any weird grammar or spelling mistakes, I tend to type a little strange at 2am. Lord, I need to start writing at a reasonable hour. Anyway, this is the first chapter of a new story I'm planning. Let me know if you like it and if you want me to go on! Thanks for reading, please review! Love you all!**


End file.
